


Neither the sun

by Naicele



Series: Similarities attract [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, John in Afghanistan, Light Angst, M/M, Military, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naicele/pseuds/Naicele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrelenting sun, fist-fighting militaries, steamy sex and unwise decisions. Set during John's time in Afghanistan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither the sun

John was walking aimlessly through camp, the sun had already started its daily marathon across the sky and the light was bright enough to force him into his, by now habitual, squint. His head was pounding slightly and evenly and his eyes were full of grit. His combat fatigues felt hot and heavy and he half-heartedly dreamt of cool English rain and dew covered green meadows as he walked. He had no goal or destination, just an intangible need to be elsewhere.

He felt sore and used up. He had spent most of the night on watch; a soldier had been too careless of where he’d walked and had stepped on a mine. As soon as it had become light enough he had been sent off by chopper to the hospital in Kabul for proper medical attention. He would likely lose his leg below the knee anyhow. It had been a routine job really, stopping bleeding and easing pain and still it had left him feeling sleepless and at unrest; so he walked, hoping the sun would burn away the lingering stiffness from his limbs and clear the restlessness from his mind.

On his second lap around the camp he heard a gleeful shout over to his left, from the parking lot, or rather the stretch of sand not much different than all the other stretches of sand. This one was used to park the cars on, hence designated the parking lot. John aimed for the noise, hoping for a distraction.

As he got closer he realized that a small crowd had gathered to watch a pair of soldiers sparing. Ben, a young hot head from Brighton, had the habit of convincing new recruits to try their luck against him; to the elation of whoever was off duty at the moment. As John walked up he saw the men shake hands and then back up to face each other. He sneaked in among the back rows, not feeling up for any conversation at the moment. He did not need to worry; the onlookers were intent on the combatants as they engaged each other. He found a spot behind the crowd and sat down beside a vehicle where he had a clear line of sight.

It was only marginally cooler in the shadow from the SUV but it still felt like a benediction. He leaned his head back against the wheelhouse and sighed as he let his muscles relax. Around him soldiers were standing in pairs or alone looking at the two men moving as if they were dancing in the light of the glaring sun. It was too hot for it and sweat had already started to gather at their temples, yet they did not seem to notice. They were locked, eye to eye, slowly circling each other as they rolled their heads from side to side, tendons making sharp lines under skin.

He watched them as they threw the first punches, careful moves in the beginning to assess the strength and skill of the other. The man facing Ben was a new addition, John had only spotted him a few times in the cantina during the last couple of days; flown in with a group of replacements for men whose time to go home had come. John had not seen him before, yet the man had not had that bewildered look of the newly arrived that most sported the first month or so. He supposed he could have been stationed elsewhere before coming to John’s part of town.

The new guy feinted with a sharp left and Ben fell for it, reaching too far when he thought he saw an opportunity, smiling victoriously as he did. He was rewarded with a quick jab to his ribs that had to hurt. The newbie was already dancing back as the sound of flesh on flesh reached John. He didn’t even lift an eyebrow as the onlookers cheered him on. His hands clasped in front of his face, brow drawn down and eyes intensely focused on his opponent.

The man, whose name John had not yet caught was of middle height and not big in any sense. He still seemed to have a bit of leanness in him from youth. His skin looked smooth and was already starting to tan in the Afghan sun. Ben on the other hand was a large man, arms like logs shaped by hours in the gym. So far though, he did not seem to have a chance against the smaller man whose quick feet kept him at arm’s length. Another brief attack and fists flying, not too hard to do damage but hard enough to hurt and the men danced apart again.

The fighters had stripped down to the waist, naked torsos blinding in the harsh sunlight. John looked on as the recruit wiped his brow, hand running across his forehead up to his hairline, dark stubble on his head cut short. He rolled his shoulders and you could see the ripple across his back of tensed muscles, John made an appreciate nod; muscles made for hard use and not good looks. They would serve him better in the harsh life of the military outpost. Sweat was pouring down him by now, making the dark line of hair on his chest curl.

They pushed back and forth a couple of times, giving and taking blows. Ben’s opponent jumped back in another evasion and the name tags hanging between his pectorals dangled and caught the sun at an odd angle, it sent a reflection towards John who had to blink away bright spots on his retinas. As the man regained his balance Ben pushed for it, trying to get close where his length and superior built would be more of an advantage. Though the man was still reeling he held fast, arms pushed forward to brace the incoming blows.

John could hear him grunt slightly in surprise as Ben’s knuckles connected hard but awkwardly with his raised forearms and you could almost see the ripple going through his flexed biceps. Ben kept coming, going for a quick win; in the heat he would not last long. The other man dodged another attack and then suddenly bent low and rushed forward, changing from defensive to offensive. Ben was caught off guard and in seconds he was on the ground, a cloud of dust rising from the impact and you could practically hear the air being forced out of his lungs.

The man was quick, within moments of frantic struggle he was laying on top of Ben, legs spread wide, booted toes ground down into the sand for leverage. His arse made a hard curve under his fatigues, flexed as he strained against the larger man’s attempts at freeing himself. From then it was over before John could blink. Ben must have realised that his struggle was pointless and demeaning so he yielded. The crowd whooped and cheered for a while, most of them had tried their own luck against Ben in the past, many with much less success. The newbie offered a hand for Ben to get up and the men clapped each other on the shoulder, saying something he could not hear before Ben walked off in defeat.

John stayed on watching the winner as he shook a few hands and nodded towards a few he seemed familiar with. Eventually, the rest of the crowd drifted off in search of shadow and cool drinks after it seemed clear that nothing else was happening here and the winner seemed to have little interest in bragging about his accomplishment.

The man stood still as the place slowly cleared and soon it was only he and John sitting beside the SUV left. He seemed to be catching his breath, or perhaps just enjoying the moment, he made no notice of John’s existence. The dust was making dark smears on his torso as it mixed with the sweat. He ran a hand over his stomach, fingers brushing the line of hair growing from his belly button and down into the cover of his trousers. John felt a slight tug in his groin as he followed the line down with his eyes.

He was stirred from his momentary lapse by the feeling of being watched; he looked up and saw the man looking back at him, dark eyes steadily meeting his. Reflexively he looked away and then swore at himself; too obvious. He must be tired indeed if he let himself be distracted like that, usually he was more careful.

He looked back and saw the man slowly walking over, shirt in hand, like there was no rush. He came up to John and looked down at him, the angle made his jaw line stand out, casting a weird shadow across his chest. He sported a hint of dark stubble on his shin and John thought that he must be around or slightly under his own age.

“You’re a doctor, right?” he said.

John nodded back and the man offered his hand, “Lestrade, Greg.”

“Watson,” he said and then added after he realized that the other man had given his first name, “John.”

They shook hands in silence, Greg’s hands were callused and strong, the hands of a soldier, just like John’s. His handshake was firm yet not overly so, he clearly didn’t feel the need to prove his strength.

Greg nodded and sat down next to him without asking permission.

“First time?” Greg said.

“Fourth,” John answered without thinking.

Greg whistled between his teeth, seemingly impressed, “Second for me,” he said.

John didn’t reply. After his third round in Afghanistan he had sworn that it would be his last, yet here he was. It had been the same each time, whenever he got home, the first week was always perfect and he could not be happier. Then soon, his skin started to itch and nothing he did could scratch it. After a few weeks his behaviour became self-destructive, bordering on suicidal, and before he knew it he had signed on for another tour. Each time he swore it would be different, yet each time it was not.

He could feel Greg look at him sideways, a curious look in his eyes, the same most people got when they found out how long he had been here. Normally doctors only came for one or maybe two rounds before they had the experience to get a fancy job at a large hospital at home. More pay, better beds and less people shooting at you.

Greg leaned back against the SUV and winced silently as his bare back met the hot metal of the car. He was sitting close and his shoulder was just barely touching John’s. John didn’t move away and was momentarily proud of himself, the other man apparently didn’t notice and so neither did he.

“What did you thing of the fight?” Greg said after a while, fingers curling and uncurling unconsciously around the balled up t-shirt in his hand.

John thought for a moment and then answered, “You’d be in trouble if Ben was actually clever.”

Greg laughed, a rich sound originating from somewhere within his chest, his arm brushed against John’s as he laughed and John did his best not to think about it.

“You are right on that,” he said after he stopped laughing, “Lucky for me he is not.”

John smiled and cast a look to his side; Greg was looking at him, crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.

“You were good, not many can take down Ben that easily,” he amended to take some of the edge out of his earlier comment.

“He didn’t know me, would not have been that easy otherwise,” he said.

“You’re claiming you’re smart then?” John joked.

“Well, yeah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

John stopped, a bit surprised by the easiness of the other man’s reply. Being clever was not often a personal trait most soldiers tended.

“What are you doing here then?” he said at last, unable to hide his curiosity.

Greg flicked a grain of sand from his knee and said, “Paying for school.”

John nodded; he knew that one all right. He saw many bright young men, and a few women, from families unable to pay for university who allowed the military to pay for school and then in return did a year or so of service. Most, however, ended up on more scientific posts, out here on the front line they were a rare breed.

They sat in silence for a while, John studiously trying to ignore the half-naked man beside him. Correction, the very fit half-naked man. But the way his collarbone was jutting out and his lean but defined chest was slanting down beside him was doing his tired brain no good.

“What are you doing here?” Greg asked after a while.

John brought a knee up and placed his hand on it; he did not like to think about the answer to that question even when he was on his own. He was not going to talk to a perfect stranger about the craving deep in his stomach that civilian life left and the lingering doubt in his hearth that he could ever do normal.

He shook his shoulders and said, “What are you going to do when you get home?”

Greg didn’t call him on it but instead said, “Something that makes a difference, helps people,” John could hear the almost wistful longing in the man’s voice, but then he shook himself like a wet dog and laughed, “Fight crime. In a cloak, no tights though.”

John laughed as well, glad the mood had changed.

“Why not?” John said, “All the best superheroes have tights.”

“Na, not for me, not that I dislike tights out of principle...” He looked sideways at John as he said it, thick eyelashes casting shadows down his cheeks and a half hidden question in his eyes. He continued flippantly, “But I think you need actual superpowers to pull them off.”

John could feel his stomach do a summersault and his heart start to beat faster, thinking that he recognised this, this thing happening right now. He had done it before after all, just never here where sand and sun made everything sharper, clearer.

He looked away to hide the flush that crept up on his neck and said, “Nah I don’t agree with you there. Take Batman, I bet Robin think he is pulling them off...” he left it hanging and held his breath hoping he had not misread the situation and that he had not imagined the innuendo about pulling skin-tight leg wear off well shaped male superheroes.

He felt more than saw Greg’s hand starting to drop from his lap onto the ground between them, landing seemingly haphazardly half over his own, three fingers lying across the back of his hand. He carefully did not move, handling the situation like an ancient and fragile Japanese Ming vase. He turned his upper body slightly and met the dark eyes of the soldier beside him straight on and allowed the corner of his mouth to creep up an inch, keeping to the protocol of these things.

Greg did not smile back but focused on him with the same intent stare he had shown his sparring partner earlier. John suppressed a shiver as the man moved his fingers, gently stroking John’s hand. His body heat increased by several degrees in an instant, more than even the Afghan temperature could be the cause of; he could feel himself react from even that brief touch. He realized that this, as little as it was, was more physical contact than he had with another human being in months, which did not involve blood and screaming.

John drew himself back from the dark pits of the man’s eyes and cleared his throat.

“You know what, I just realized that I really should go check up on the medical supplies,” he allowed himself to smile, showing a bit of teeth, “You can always help, the med cabin is small but...” He allowed the rest to remain unsaid as before, allowing silence to say what words better not.

Greg nodded, hands running lazy circles on the back of John’s hand, hidden between them where no one suddenly walking up on them could see, “Sure,” he added, again looking at John with eyes dark as sin.

Forever after John would be proud of himself for getting up and casually strolling across the entire camp with Greg following half a step behind. He could see out of the corner of his eye as the man raised his arms over his head to pull his shirt on, the muscles of his stomach tensing and the hipbones showing sharply against the skin. It took all he had not to run the rest of the way.

 

ooo

 

John had not exaggerated when he said the med cabin was small and perhaps cabin was a very deceptive word, hovel was more like it. Yet it had four walls, a roof and a locked door to keep people from stealing expensive meds. It was probably one of the most private places in the entire camp as it was located beside the sick tent which most staff beside the medics and patients avoided like the plague.

He let them both in and hung the lock on the outside, hoping no one walking past would realize anything was amiss. It was a stupid risk anyhow, a risk he likely would not have taken had he been rested and the other man less forward.

As he closed the door the interior was sunk in a half gloom, light seeping in through the vents and around the frame of the door. It was warm like a sauna and all around them were bare steel shelves stacked full of goods.

He turned to face the other man, eyes gradually adjusting to the dimmed light. Greg was leaning back against a shelf full of disinfectants and gauze, arms crossed over his chest and a secret smile playing on his lips.

“Nice place you got here doc,” he said.

John snorted and took a step forward, the small space bringing him immediately inside the personal space of the other man. There was not much time and he aimed to make the most of it.

Their bodies met and John could feel the need build with tornado speed, he grabbed the man and pulled them both close sighing of pleasure as he did. Greg seemed to feel his need and pushed back, hands already pulling at the hem of his shirt and John thought dizzily that this would not take long.

In seconds their shirts were off and John was running a hand down Greg’s back, feeling the muscles beneath the smooth skin. The man smelled of sweat and musk and he could have sworn the smell filled the small room in an absolutely intoxicating effect. He bent his head and smelled the man’s neck as Greg slid his hands down his sides and cupped his arse. He pushed his hips forward and John met him, groins rubbing up against each other.

They were already panting and John wanted nothing more than to free himself of his trousers. He pulled his head back and asked hoarsely, “What do you want?”

Greg looked at him, those impossibly long eyelashes lowered almost like he was shy, yet his words were clear and demanding, “I want you to blow me, I want to see you on your knees.”

John’s head swam and he dropped to his knees so fast a sharp jolt of pain met him and travelled up his leg. He ignored it, too focused on the tight burning in his groin and the man he was getting off with.

He mouthed the mound in Greg’s trousers, breathing hot through the fabric in promise of things to come as he took a firm grip on his hips, holding him still.

He was rewarded with a, “Oh, fuck,” from Greg, already breathing hard, sharp breaths.

John threw caution out the window and decided to take his time, an opportunity like this was not likely to come again soon, or ever, and he was good at this.

His thumbs rubbed slow circles in the indentations just below the hipbones as his tongue swiped a wet path along the edge of the skin over the trousers. After he had licked his way across he went back again, the tip of his tongue edging under the fabric and touching the skin beneath.

Greg dropped his arms to his sides and let him have his way, eyes fixed on John’s mouth and pink tongue as they explored.

John took his time, opening button and pushing fabric aside and down while licking and sucking gently on any skin exposed. He was careful not to leave any marks that would be hard to explain.

Finally he had pushed all cloth out of the way and was left with the man’s erection in front of his face. He blew gently on the head and he could almost feel the restlessness in Greg as he waited for John to get on with it. John smiled to himself and licked a wet path up from the balls and all the way to the tip, tongue broad and flat against the silky smooth skin.

“About now would be good,” Greg whispered above him, voice strained and needy.

John obliged and swallowed him down in one smooth motion. He did his best, his tongue working up the shaft and one hand leaving its supporting place and grabbing hold of his balls, just rubbing them together gently as he worked. It didn’t take long until the man was whimpering quietly above him. John pumped him harder, head bobbing up and down.

Greg pushed a fist in his own mouth, chewing on his knuckles and the other hand he wove into the short strands of John’s blond hair. He only held his hand there, no force or push, just following the speed John was keeping. John could feel his fingers around his scalp, impressed the man could keep that amount of self-control.

He was close now, John could feel his balls tighten and swallowed hard in response, hollowing his checks out. A gasp came above him and he looked up just in time to see Greg’s eyes flutter close and a blissful expression settle on his face. His entire body shook as he came down John’s throat, his hand in John’s hair never firmer than a caress.

He kept swallowing until the man grew still and he could feel his muscles relaxing. Then he carefully let go and rose on swaying legs. He waited for a second as Greg shook his head and opened his eyes, they were still not entirely focused and John couldn’t help but smile thinking, I did that.

“Now you,” Greg said, voice a bit raw.

John smiled wider and nodded, “Now me.”

He turned Greg around and the man followed easily where his hands placed him. John shakily started to undo his own belt, fingers clumsy with need. He pushed his trousers down to his knees and Greg bent and fished a condom out of his own trousers and held it out behind him.

John took it and ripped the packet open with his teeth as he pushed his underwear down as well. His prick was lying hard and erect against his belly as he grabbed it and rolled the condom on.

“Always prepared, is that your crime fighter motto?” He whispered in the man’s ear, letting his tongue follow the shell.

“It was already taken so I had to go for fuck me please,” Greg said.

John might have whimpered but he hoped not. He looked frantically around and picked up a bottle of lubricant from a shelf behind him. He filled his palm and smeared himself before pushing a knee in between Greg’s, guiding his legs apart. He stopped for a second, one hand spread out on Greg’s flat stomach.

“You ok?” John said.

“Yes, just do it alright,” he replied and John took that as his cue and used his other hand to spread his buttocks and align himself before he gently pushed inside. It was tight and warm and John sucked in a deep breath in-between his teeth.

Greg clasped a shelf above his head, holding on as John pressed forward. John clasped his hips, index fingers around jutted hipbones. Greg’s body stretched before him, arms reaching up and forming a smooth line with the rest of his body. Muscles on his back tensed and skin silky and shiny with sweat, John just looked for a while, saving the image away for lonely showers and nights in the future.

When Greg pushed restlessly against him he started to move, long careful pushes at start, giving the man time to adjust to him. Greg’s head fell back, and John reached with his mouth for the long line of neck revealed, placing his mouth over the hot skin, careful not to suck too hard. He pushed in harder slamming his hips against the man. Greg writhed under him, long limbs clenching and unclenching as John started to push against him for earnest.

It didn’t take long before John could feel the heat inside him and feel the muscles in his stomach clench and then he was pushing in as far as he could, face buried in hot flesh trying to muffle his shout. He came hard in long pulses as he emptied himself completely, and Greg moaned, “Yes, bloody yes,” and pushed back at him.

 

ooo

 

They stood awkwardly afterwards, none of them really knowing what to say, the space too small for them to simply ignore each other. They had dressed and cleaned and now only the goodbyes were left to be performed to close the ritual.

Greg folded first, nodding briskly as if to break a lethargic moment and to say, _yeah that was nice thank you for it now let’s go back to not knowing each other_. John nodded, trying to convey that, _yeah he was cool with that_.

Greg smiled, seemingly tuned in on the entire telepathic discussion they had just had. He moved to leave and John relaxed; difficult moment handled. As an afterthought, or so John assumed, the man half turned and threw an arm across John’s shoulders in a sort of good bye. Instead of just standing there and let the half embrace, half shoulder pat happen John in pure reflex turned his body full on and hugged him back. Arms sneaking in around the man’s waist and head coming in to rest side by side.

If they were both a bit surprised at the other’s actions it was instantly forgotten as they both for the briefest moment clung to each other. Muscles in arms and legs tensing, fists curling convulsively, John buried his fingers in soft fabric and could not have stopped himself from holding on for his life. Body pressed as close as he could Greg grabbed his shoulders with both hands and buried his face in his neck. They moulded together as if they for a second had become one.

It was over in under a second and yet for years afterwards when he was lying in bed John would think that perhaps that had been the most intimate moment of his life. For a brief moment he had shared all the infinite loneliness and feeling of being out of place he felt whenever he got back to England, and the sorrow from seeing patients and friends dying before him. From Greg he could feel his wish to be elsewhere and the frustration of not being able to do more of a difference, and from them both, the constant fear they all knew like a lover but never, ever acknowledged; that base human fear of dying alone.

As they broke apart they couldn’t look at each other; too much seemed to have passed between them, a month, a year, a life. They stayed silent as if shell shocked before Greg turned and left and John was glad for it. Out here, in the harsh sunlight and rough sand, moments like this were best left alone.


End file.
